Below me
Lies the shimmering giants
Of Capitalism, arranged
By Fortune's hands
In the square — mobile minions
Peruse the cement
Of the sweat of the working man.
Like robots, they surge
Ceaselessly into the night.
A couple
Sips on Starbucks in silence
As ornate fountains spray nearby —
In the distance, their hilltop house observes them from afar; it nods
Its approval over their expense.
The lights
Of office cubicles slither
Into dusk, begging its captives
To work by starlight. Yet, as the green thumbs
of Capitalism slump into their cars, Time knows they'll emerge
Like clockwork soon enough
And the electricity will continue to spark
Another day.
